The Silver Prince
by Pieter250
Summary: Harry Potter never thought that he would get a second chance at life. He definitely did not think his new family would be even more dysfunctional than his last. Tired of being let down by fate, he stands up to seize his rightful place in the world. - Harry/Daenerys Targaryen
1. The Birth of a King

**Warning:** This is an 'a Song of Ice and Fire'-crossover, so keep in mind that this story may include, but may not be limited to: foul language, blood, gore, sexual situations, disembowelment, rape, character death, dismemberment, incest, defenestration and being burned alive.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

 **Author Note:** I am just a guy, who has far too many ideas and who finally decided to write some of them out. This story will probably be updated slowly and inconsistently.

 **-x-**

Chapter One: The Birth of a King

 **-x-**

Thunder rumbled ominously over the city of King's landing, echoing through the deserted streets, against the stone houses of the capital, amplifying the sound many times over. It was swiftly followed by yet another flash of pure lightning striking down from the swirling, angry looking mass of storm clouds resting in the sky that were briefly illuminated, down to earth, the world of mortals, leaving the smell of burnt ozone in its wake.

All over the city, people, children and adults alike, had long since fled the now muddy streets of the port city, which were rendered to little more than waterways due to the torrent of the storm. They had abandoned life outside in favour of the warmth and relative comfort of their homes, where they were protected from the rain pelting down on their roofs. They cowered in fear from what could be nothing but the wrath of the Gods in their eyes.

The long hallowed corridors of the Red Keep were held in the grip of another heart wrecking noise however. The Queen, Cersei Lannister, had gone into labour that noon, when all there was to see of the current storm was some dreary weather and an otherwise calm breeze that was showing no signs of picking up.

"Aaargh", the blonde woman screamed once again her heart out, as the near unbearable pain of another contraction coursed through her already battered body.

She was lying on the large bed in her own quarters, not having shared her husband's rooms ever since they realised she was pregnant, propped up against a veritable mountain of soft, gold embroidered cushions that gave her next to no comfort this time. Her normally beautiful hair, resembling spun gold when seen in the sunlight, was dark and matted, hanging limply from her head in a tangled mess. Her skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat, which gleamed in the light of the flickering torches, which dimly illuminated her room. Despite her current state she was still the very picture of beauty.

Released from the grip of her latest contraction, the young Lannister tried to gather her bearings. Her voluptuous chest was heaving from the effort as she took great breaths of air. "Someone tell me whether the King has returned from his hunt!" she rasped out to a passing midwife after having taken her arm in a death grip.

The poor woman could only give the pregnant woman some idle platitudes, all the while patting her hand in comfort. "I am sure his Grace is hurrying back as we speak and will be arriving any moment now", she said giving her a calming smile, which Cersei desperately wished she could wipe from her face. 'Idiots! They are all useless the lot of them', she thought irritated, looking at Grand Maester Pycelle and the assembled group of midwives.

She scoffed at the idea of her Lord-Husband hurrying back to her. It was quite simply laughable to anyone who understood the extent of their relationship!

The Queen couldn't help but curse him with a few choice words as she felt another contraction start to tear through her body. It was all his fault!

She had gone to their marriage bed with grand dreams of being a Queen, a wife and a mother, but that very night Robert Baratheon had managed to ruin all of those dreams for her. After he had lain with her and had finished by releasing his seed into her womb, he'd had the gall of drunkenly muttering the name of his one true love: Lyanna Stark. 'Curse him and his Northern bitch!' Cersei thought, gritting her teeth against the pain.

She had briefly considered leaving Robert to his own devices and to go behind his back to her beloved brother. He would probably not have noticed that she never let him come into her again, considering he never slept with her unless he was drunk, but the young bride had persisted. She had one job to do: get pregnant with the King and give birth to the heir of the Iron Throne. An heir with Lannister blood running through his veins, which would please her father.

So Cersei had persisted, letting Robert come to her bed whenever he fancied her in a bout of drunken revelry late at night. Luckily for her that wasn't all that often. The King preferred to indulge himself in the company of a whores.

Eventually though she had noticed that her moon's blood was late and the Grand Maester had confirmed her suspicions. Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, was pregnant.

Feigning discomfort from her pregnancy, she persuaded Robert to leave her alone, which was far easier than her pride allowed her to admit. She was a beautiful woman! What sort of man could possibly resist her perfect supple breasts and delectable butt?

This had allowed her to go back to her brother however, which was something that greatly pleased her. The warmth of his embrace, soon resulted in stolen kisses whenever they thought no one was looking. Cersei had been happier than she had been in a long time. The kisses ignited a fire inside her, which led to the siblings once more joining together as one. As they were supposed to be.

Thinking back to those moments, Cersei simply knew that she and her brother were simply meant to be together, otherwise it couldn't possibly have felt that good. The pregnant woman had briefly considered taking some moon tea in order to get rid of Robert's filth that was growing in her womb, but she had eventually decided against it.

It was only for a few more months, the blonde had reasoned, and after having given him a healthy heir she would be free from any duty towards her husband and her family. She would be able to be with Jaime completely and finally be happy again.

The Queen let out another ear piercing scream, fisting the white blankets on her bed in her hands. Curse Robert! She would have thought that at the very least he would deign her worthy of his presence and be present in the Red Keep while she was in the birthing chambers, but the man had left for a hunt the moment word reached his ears. 'Why can't that oaf show a little interest!' she thought, feeling the pain in her lower body, 'It is his first child that is coming on the world.'

'Right- he has a score of bastards running around by now', she bitterly corrected herself.

It wouldn't be that bad, if only he hadn't insisted on Jaime accompanying him on his hunt today. Her sweet Jaime would have been able to stay with her, to keep the pain and panic at bay with his mere presence.

An hour later, she let out a last heart retching scream, before a second wail pierced through the warm air, making the gaggle of women flutter around her with renewed energy. They were all around her, smothering her, wiping away the sweat on her brow with a wet piece of cloth and taking her child away to clean it up.

She felt herself fall back into her cushion, temporarily closing her eyes in utter exhaustion.

Before long though the Lannister felt a squirming, wailing bundle being pushed into her pale, tired arms. Opening her vibrant green eyes she looked down upon her child who was searching for her breast. Cersei sighed, 'I should have known that any child of Robert would be demanding from the day it is born', but bared her breast to the new-born child all the same.

As the baby eagerly latched on, sucking with wild abandon, Pycelle arrived at her side smiling down at her, though his eyes showed worry. "You have given birth to a healthy boy, Your Grace. Your family's claim to the throne is secured." The old Maester hesitated for a few seconds, before continuing, "His appearance though-"

The Queen felt worry flood through her entire being. Was there something wrong with her first-born son? Was her born an imp like her dastardly little brother? She was almost afraid to do it, but swiped back the blanket baring her son's little head to her searching eyes.

She blinked in surprise.

Of everything that could have happened, she had not been expecting this!

Pensively stroking her child's chubby cheeks, she fell back on the bed, too tired to hold herself up any longer and slowly fell into a deep slumber. She was genuinely curious about what her husband would say.

 **-x-**

The following morning, when the clouds had cleared and people finally dared to come out in order to assess the damage which the storm had inflicted upon the capital city, the rattling sound of horses arriving in the courtyard travelled through the open windows of her chambers.

A few minutes later the heavy, oak door barring entrance to her quarters was thrown open and in strode her boisterous husband, the King, along with Jon Arryn and her dearest brother Jaime, all looking expectant to see the new baby.

Sitting straighter, she gave Robert a kind smile, though there was little genuine emotion behind it and spoke formally, "You have a son, Your Grace, an heir to the Iron Throne."

A happy smile spread across the former Storm Lord's face, making her heart flutter ever so slightly. It made her remember the foolish dreams she'd had. No! She wouldn't allow herself to fall into the same trap once again! This child was meaningless, it wouldn't be able to mend any part of their dysfunctional relationship!

When Robert arrived at her side, he bend over to get a good look of his son, fully expecting to see a healthy boy with hair as black as night and his own blue eyes. What he saw however made him reel back as if slapped, shaking his rapidly reddening head in denial, growing more and more enraged by the second.

"That thing", he roared loudly, pointing a trembling finger at the new-born child, "is not my son! I can smell the dragon blood from here." The King turned around and stormed out of the room, cursing all along.

The old Hand was shocked at his would-be son's reaction upon seeing his own child and took a closer look. He let out an involuntary gasp when he realised what the now crying child looked like. A small tuft of soft, silvery-white hair covered his little head and despite the tears that were pooling in his eyes, the old Lord could clearly see that they were a dark violet colour, only seen in those who were descendants of Old Valyria.

Giving the Queen a pained smile he left, in the hopes of catching up with his former ward. Now was not the time for rash decisions!

All Cersei had eye for, despite the crying child in her arms, was the pained look on her brother's face, when he came to stand beside them. Feeling his calloused hand intertwine with her own slender one, she made up her mind. 'I have done my duty towards the Seven Kingdoms', she thought to herself with conviction, 'Now I will take what I deserve.'

The Queen called out for one of the maids, who hesitantly curtsied, having witnessed the tragic happenings of what should have been a joyous occasion. "Take little Daemon to his wet-nurse", she ordered the young woman, passing over her son into the surprised maid's waiting arms, "I am still too tired to take care of him. Leave now."

Cersei didn't know what had made her call her son Daemon of all things. It was surprisingly fitting though. She had no doubt that Robert would rather give his crown to Tywin Lannister, a man he resented, than to allow it to grace the head of another dragon. She was certain that Daemon Baratheon would be considered to be little more than a bastard in the eyes of his father, just like Daemon Blackfyre had been in reality.

The young mother ripped her eyes away from the violet orbs of her son, who was looking back at her pitifully crying over the maid's shoulder as she left the room for his wet-nurse, and looked deeply into her twin's green one's, which were identical to her own.

She felt him squeeze her hand a little tighter and smiled.

 **-x-**

Jon Arryn found the King in the royal chambers, where he –by the looks of it- had smashed one of the heavy, comfortable chairs into his desk, splintering it to pieces in his enraged state. His old ward was sat on his bed drinking heavily from a pitcher of wine, spilling wine into his beard, from where it streamed over his clothes unto the bed.

"More wine!" the enraged man yelled at one of the servants who had just knocked on the door, throwing his now empty pitcher towards the oak surface.

The Hand frowned his bushy, grey eyebrows in disapproval. "Robert, we need to talk about your son", he said soothingly. "We cannot afford to anger Lord Tywin. Our current situation is too precarious to jeopardise our alliance with the man, by calling his first grandchild a bastard."

"Besides," he continued, looking sternly at the adult before him, "you know perfectly well that your grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen, a dragon Princess. It is perfectly possible that your son got his looks from her."

With an angry roar, Robert jumped from the comfortable bed and stalked like a predator towards his old mentor with a meaty fist held up threateningly. "Do not speak of such matters!" he growled out, his blue eyes gleaming with drunken rage. "They are Targaryen filth, the lot of them! They do not deserve to exist, to sully these lands with their presence."

Jon Arryn, couldn't help but feel a tingle of fear run down his spine, as he saw Robert advance on him, with a mad fire burning in his eyes. He held up his wrinkled hands in a placating manner. "Peace Robert. Peace", he said softly, concerned for the man he considered a son. "I know you hate them and you have every right, but this is your son! Your own flesh and blood. The Gods would curse you if you did something to him."

The King blinked his heavy eyes at his Hand's fearful face and dropped his fist, feeling his anger abate ever so slightly, allowing him to think more clearly. His shoulders slumping in defeat, he scoffed bitterly, "The Gods seem to have already cursed me. The dragon spawn have taken everything from me: my mother and father, my beloved Lyanna and now even my own bloody son."

The large man turned and sat heavily on the bed, which creaked under his ever increasing weight. After a few moments of silence, he nodded slowly, looking up at the Lord of the Vale with his watery blue eyes. "Fine!", he bit out, "I will let the spawn live, even though I should just get rid of it, the Gods would not look poorly on me for ridding the world of such filth. I won't tolerate it as my heir though! Do whatever it takes. Tell them the Targaryen madness makes it too dangerous to accept him as the heir of the Seven Kingdoms. It has happened before, just get it out of my sight!"

"Now leave!" the King ground out, feeling his anger return at the injustice of it all. "And finally bring me that bloody drink I asked for."

The Hand of the King bowed and left pondering over today's happenings. Sighing he could only conclude that things could have gone worse, not by much of course, but it was enough for him to hold out some hope. 'Surely Robert can't hold a grudge against his own child', the man thought, though his mood suddenly turned southwards as his mind conjured images of the bloodied bodies of Rhaenys and Aegon lying on the floor of the throne room.

He walked slowly to his quarters thinking about his next course of action. Under normal circumstances the bells of the Great Sept of Baelor would be ringing jubilantly by now, signalling that the heir to the throne had been born. Normally the Grand Maester would be sending the whole flock of messenger ravens out to all corners of the Seven Kingdoms heralding tales of the birth a King's son.

Today however all he did was send a single letter to Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, informing him of the birth of his first grandson and the unfortunate circumstances of his birth.

Despite that though, soon the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms had heard about Daemon Baratheon, First of his Name. After all, the rumours started by a simple maid had a way of sounding louder than any bell could ring and move faster than any raven could fly.

They told stories about the little King-Who-Would-Never-Be, who had been born while the Seven showed their displeasure at the injustice that was to occur, with a storm rivalling the one heralding the birth of Daenerys Targaryen, the Storm Born.

Soon everyone knew about Daemon Baratheon.

The Silver Prince.

 **-x-**

 **Author Note:** I hope you liked it! If you have a minute to spare: leave a comment down below and let me know what you think. It goes without saying that I would greatly appreciate any feedback.

The story will follow Harry as he tries to find a replacement for his dysfunctional family and tries to take and keep his rightful place in the world as the King of the Seven Kingdoms.


	2. The Passage of Time

Chapter Two: The Passage of Time

 **-x-**

Daemon Baratheon watched his breath condense in the cold northern air. He was sat high upon his black gelding, looking out over the frozen wasteland that was the northern part of the Seven Kingdoms. Well, it wasn't a wasteland per say, but that was what most southerners thought of when they spoke of it – which was a rare occurrence in and of itself.

In truth, the young prince could not help but feel a strange fondness for the savage land he had been travelling through as part of the King's party, on their way to Winterfell, the Stark's fortress since the beginning of time. The soft breeze chilled him despite it being the warmest time of the day in a remarkably warm season. The trees with their gnarled, old trunks were proof of the shear force that had lashed out to them over the years.

No glowing fields filled with wheat. No towns or castles littering the landscape as far as the eye could see. Definitely not a place that his idiot of a brother would appreciate.

All Daemon could do is smile fondly. He imagined an awe-inspiring, magical castle sitting on one of the rolling hills, defying reason by its sheer presence. Once upon a time he had loved Hogwarts and the north reminded him –a part of it at least- of his past.

Sighing he shook his head, running a hand through his silver hair. 'Enough foolishness', he called himself to order. 'Time to head back to my party.' He would have liked to remain in this peaceful environment, even if it was just for a little longer, but soon his absence would be noticed and that could only lead to trouble.

That was one trait he had most definitely inherited from the late Harry Potter: the ability to find trouble especially when he could miss it like the pest. That and hair that stood in all directions regardless of what he did to it.

Daemon tugged at his horse's leash and with a loud shout he rode back to his _family_ , kicking up dust as he went.

 **-x-**

"And so the great conqueror returned from surveying his lands", was the cheerful greeting he received from his favourite uncle, Tyrion Lannister. The dwarf was uncomfortably sat upon his small horse, almost completely hidden from view by the red, expensive looking furs he used to shield himself against the northern cold.

"Please do be careful with what leaves that mouth of yours, uncle!" Daemon softly remonstrated the man, while his violet eyes darted over the heads of the nearby men-at-arms, looking to see whether someone had heard. To the young prince's relief all he could see was the scarlet red uniforms of the Lannister soldiers, who could be expected to be loyal to them. He relaxed the taut muscles in his shoulder – not too much though. These men might not cause nearly as many problems as their Baratheon counterparts, but they would still tattle to his mother, the queen, about anything worthwhile that managed to reach their ears.

"Still paranoid I see", Tyrion answered not looking the least bit repentant, closing the little booklet he had been trying to read with a snap.

Daemon shook his silvery-white mane in disagreement. "You know perfectly well, that if the notion about me being anywhere near the throne were to reach the king's ears, I would be in some serious trouble! It isn't paranoia if it is true."

"Peace nephew. Peace", the older man tried to placate him. "By the Seven, I wouldn't have said anything like that if I hadn't been completely sure I wouldn't be instigating any more problems for you to deal with. You do realize that I know perfectly well how to keep my lips sealed, don't you?" The dwarf finished, raising his hand to his chest, trying to look affronted for the whole world to see.

Trudging along on his horse, the prince snorted in amusement. "I don't think you have managed to be quiet for even a single hour since the day you learned how to speak, uncle. Don't think that Uncle Jaime didn't tell me all there was to hear about your youth during our sparring sessions."

"Well that is completely out of the subject", Tyrion waved the reply away with his stubby fingers, a smile forming on his crooked face. He soon turned back to Daemon and changed the subject to something less incriminating. "Anyhow, have you given any thought as to why your father summoned you to King's Landing to join the party leaving for the North? You were quite nicely out of his way in your castle in Castamere. And the gods know he doesn't need _your_ help to talk to Stark! It seems odd that he would willingly seek your presence after all these years…"

'Odd. That is the understatement of the century' Daemon thought, patting his horse reassuringly on the neck, the beast having picked up on his own now troubled feelings.

Saying that the relationship between Daemon and King Robert, his father, was less than stellar would be quite correct, though 'frosty' would be a more apt term to use. Despite that, the prince's youth in the halls of the Red Keep had been relatively uneventful. At the very least one could argue that he was already used to the way he was treated. It was quite similar to the indifference and borderline abuse that Harry had suffered at the hands of the Dursleys in his previous life after all. It had to be said though that the Dursleys, terrible they may have been, had never actually caused him any serious or lasting physical harm, so it wasn't completely the same.

Daemon had quickly learned that staying out of the king's way was the best course of action to take all circumstances considered. It seemed that whenever the two of them were in the same room together it would inevitably lead to disaster. King Robert, being easy to anger at the best of times, could not stand the sight of his eldest son for any duration of time. Unfortunately for Daemon, his short temper was not aided by his keen interest in strong spirits and alcohols, more often than not resulting in an explosive finale where the king shouted at his son, demanding for the boy to be removed from his presence at once.

It was only natural for a young lad to turn to his only remaining parent under such treatment, in this particular case: Her Grace the Queen. His mother.

Unfortunately for the young wizard there was little to be gained on that front as his mother had little interest in him, instead focusing almost entirely on his younger brother Joffrey. It was a solace, though a bittersweet one, that the golden-haired woman had little time to bestow on her youngest children either. Years Daemon had spent trying to get her to notice him, to show her that he was worthy of her love and attention.

There had been moments that he had thought it had almost worked. Times where she would look at him with the affection that a child deserved. Every single time however, she would see him -truly see him- and her beautiful face would cloud over. Then she would once again turn her back on him and coddle her precious golden son Joffrey, who seemed to be incapable of sharing his mother's attention with others.

It was because of this that Daemon tried to connect to his youngest siblings. His parents might be as dead as James and Lily Potter had been in his previous life for all they did for him, but at the very least he had gained his brother, sister and some people in his extended family. It was sad that he was unable to spend any significant amount of time with his siblings as he was almost always sent away and his mother appeared to be very keen to prevent him from connecting with them.

Still, the young prince made a point of it to play some games with them, whenever his presence in the capital was tolerated. Watching their little, golden faces light up with amazement when he would tell them stories about his travels and magic were some of his fondest memories.

'My very own golden angels', Daemon idly thought, reminiscing about the past, his full lips curving into a soft, genuine smile.

"A star for your thoughts, nephew?" Tyrion's voice interrupted his recollections. "From the stupid look on your face I would guess that you were thinking about your face in between a beautiful wench's legs."

"Or perhaps something simpler? Your own sorry arse on a well cushioned chair instead of this dreadful saddle!" The dwarf continued, patting the leather of his saddle, which was made specifically after his own design in order to allow him to ride despite his short statue.

Daemon barked out a laugh, his violet eyes looking heavenward to find out how much longer they would have to travel before reaching the fortress. "No need to ask what you were thinking about!" He exclaimed in good humor.

Recollecting himself, he shifted a bit on his saddle -it did become uncomfortable after a few hours -and continued in a more subdued tone, mindful of the soldiers riding around them, "I was just thinking about how far I have come since my eighth name day. So much has happened since then."

"Of course there has", the Lannister nodded his blonde tresses in agreement, making a wide gesture with his short arms, having to clench his legs in order to not fall off his horse. "You were sent to Dragon Stone to be fostered by Stannis Baratheon himself. And when you were one-and-ten my father and your mother got their hands on you, dragging you to the hallowed halls under Casterly Rock! Something like that is bound to have some impact on you… Though I like to think that Stannis is not the only one of your uncles who can boast such a thing."

Daemon rolled his eyes at the dwarf. "Of course. There is Stannis who has taught me how to rule men and castle alike with a firm, righteous hand; Jaime who has tirelessly drilled me to memorize my sword forms; Renly who has thought me how to clean up quite nicely and finally you who has taught me – well, I am not entirely sure what you have taught me?" Daemon joked at his uncle's expense, his breath leaving puffy clouds in the cold air.

"Surely I have done more to guide the great conqueror than nothing!" Tyrion replied, looking slightly affronted that he was being given so little credit despite being his nephew's constant companion for the past year. The dwarf had helped him while he was taking over the rule of Castamere, the castle which his grandfather had rebuilt to its former glory and had consequently given to his eldest grandson along with the lands and a title.

"Peace uncle", the young wizard spoke soothingly, holding his gloved hands up in mock surrender. "I suppose you could rightfully take credit for making me regard pouring through old tomes as anything more than a chore - and drinking of course."

"I have also taught you how to please a woman, have I not?" the dwarf puffed himself up on his small horse, looking distinctly proud of that particular achievement.

Daemon rubbed his silver eyebrows in frustration. "Please do not shout that for the whole of the Seven Kingdoms to hear!" he lamented. "The last thing I need is for mother to hear about my sexual prowess! Who knows what she would do with that kind of information…" He shuddered at the thought, suddenly finding the weather to be chillier than before. "I pity the woman I will marry when that day finally arrives. Halve of the time the Queen ignores my very existence, but when she does take an interest it seems as if she tries to suffocate me."

"Besides, I have only been with one woman. Unlike you I am not trying to catch a disease that will cause my precious equipment to fall off!" the prince corrected the dwarf.

"Well that is my dearest sister for you", Tyrion smiled apologetically, knowing perfectly well that she had been the driving force behind Daemon's removal from Stannis' care. Then his crooked grin grew slightly predatory, "This one woman you slept with? That wouldn't be a particular handmaiden we all know, would it? The same handmaiden that attends to your dearest sister Myrcella?"

"Whatever happens between me and Elaena is none of your business!" Daemon bit out, studiously ignoring his uncle exclaimed repetition of his lover's name.

Realizing that he had given away too much information in his annoyance, Daemon kicked his horse with his heels, driving it forward on the path. It was probably not the most mature way to deal with his uncle right now, but everything was better than having to remain and hear the barrage of questions that was bound to come. After all, Tyrion had been trying to learn for quite some time why exactly Daemon had sent away the whores the dwarf had hired for his name day, instead taking only a simple handmaiden to warm his bed.

 **-x-**

An hour later found Daemon riding alongside some of his very own men-at-arms, whom he had brought with him from Castamere. He listened to the bawdy jokes they were telling each other, letting the familiar banter wash over him, enjoying the normalcy of the situation. He even joined their conversation from time to time to make a jape of his own; something he was sure his grandfather, Tywin Lannister, would most assuredly not approve of.

Then again no matter how much the old lion wanted to shape Daemon to his own image, whether he was Harry or Daemon, he had always been his own person.

The most noticeable point on contention between him and his grandfather would be his dalliances with Elaena, should Tywin ever find out about them. If Daemon was lucky his grandfather would throw a fit about what he would see as a dark mark on the prince's reputation. If he was not. Well, the old lion would show that he could still bite like he had with Tyrion in the past. It was for that exact reason that Daemon was kicking himself for giving any information away to his uncle.

It wasn't that the silver-haired boy had any doubts about his uncle's trustworthiness, but talking about it in such a public place was bound to cause trouble at one point and Elaena was by far too dear to him to take such unnecessary risks with.

The young girl was a little older than he was, already being on the verge of growing into a beautiful young woman. He had first met her in the cellars of the Red Keep when they were younger and soon enough they could often be seen playing little games together. Born as the bastard daughter of an insignificant landed knight with one of the serving wenches however, she was of such low birth that she would never be a conceivable option for him to marry, even if he was a disgraced, unwanted bastard in the eyes of his father.

The reason why he was so fond of her lay for a large part in his previous life when he was still called Harry Potter.

After he had vanquished the Dark Lord, Harry had been more than happy to finish his studies, delve some deeper into Defense Against the Dark Arts, a subject which continued to be of major interest to him despite the fact that he no longer needed it, and perhaps put some of that newly acquired knowledge to the test by joining the Auror force.

It had gone swimmingly for quite some time. Harry had managed to fulfill the first two points on his checklist, even starting his training for the third, but inevitably his past endeavors caught up with him. One day during a particularly tiring training session at the Ministry he had collapsed, brought to the ground by a blinding pain in his head. A pain that was disturbingly similar to the headaches he used to get during his fifth year at Hogwarts when the Dark Lord would invade his mind almost daily.

The healers at St Mungo's were puzzled by the mysterious cause of his condition, but Harry heard enough of their theories and discussions in order to be able to gleam the truth. As it turned out: years of being joined to the Dark Lord's soul fragment had made his own soul dependent on its presence for its own proper functioning.

Harry's very own soul was slowly but surely deteriorating, lashing out in its desperate effort to find the missing piece to make itself complete again. The only somewhat problematic part being that there was no longer anything to make it whole with.

A couple of months later had seen Harry Potter forced to resign the Auror Office due to his failing mental health. He saw no other choice but to retreat to Grimmauld Place, where he spent his time reading whatever caught his fancy and compiling his own defense handbooks with what he had learned in his -admittedly short- career.

The person he became most fond of during this trying period of his life was none other than Daphne Greengrass, a woman who had been utterly irrelevant to him during his school days. The pureblood witch had become a proficient Healer over the years, specialising in the diseases of the mind, something that came easy to her with her mastery of Legilimency. She was the one who took on Harry's case, regularly visiting him at his house to try and mitigate the worst of the symptoms of his infliction.

What had started as a normal Healer-patient relationship, swiftly grew to be _more_ ; a sordid affair in the eyes of the wizarding world. The truth however was that over the span of a few months, during many conversations, games of chess and fond recollections about Hogwarts, they grew to deeply care for each other.

Despite the fact that it would be held against her, Daphne agreed to marry Harry Potter. They lived together for only a short period of time, but it truly was the highlight of his life. Despite the increasingly poor state of his soul and by extension his health, Harry was content with starting and ending a day with one of Daphne's warm, radiant smiles, which she bestowed on so precious few people.

Eventually though the inevitable happened. Harry Potter died in the privacy of his own home, leaving behind his wife and newly born son to mourn him.

And then Death decided that it wasn't his time yet and he was reborn in a new world inside a new unblemished body. Daemon Baratheon's soul filled the hole in his own that had been tormenting him for so long. It had been a struggle having to revert to such a juvenile and immature perspective of the world, but Harry –or rather Daemon as he was called in this world- had managed admirably.

Despite his young age, Daemon had sorely felt the loss of his precious wife and son. The fact that his parents simply weren't there to take care of him was easy enough to accept and deal with; after all he never had the pleasure of experiencing the joys of having parents for himself and Daemon's newly acquired uncles more than made up for it in their own unique way.

His siblings were a bit of a disappointment if he was completely honest to himself. Joffrey was a jerk at the best of times and was favoured by their father as heir for the Iron Throne, which did little to endear him to Daemon. His youngest brother and sister were too young to really form any kind of meaningful relationship with. When they were finally old enough to bond with, he had been banished from his home, first to Dragonstone and later to Casterly Rock at his mother's insistence. He loved them for the lovely children they were, but it wasn't nearly as much as he had hoped for.

None of them could stop the yearning he felt to once again feel the love that Daphne had bestowed upon him without asking anything for it in return.

One day however his sister had gotten a new handmaiden, the little girl he had met played with as a child. To his great surprise, the young woman had grown up in his absence to look almost exactly like Daphne had and while she was nothing like the original Daemon had not been able to stop himself from relishing in what little he could get. He didn't love her -her golden looks aside, her character was simply too different-, but their current relationship was to their mutual satisfaction.

His only regret was caused by the fear of putting her into danger by their continued dalliances. Any person whom was dear to him would surely be of interest to the numerous factions that worked against him, especially the ones close by in the King's Landing. 'Perhaps I should move her to Castamere', he pondered, rubbing his strong jaw, "She would probably like it there and I could-'.

"Winterfell is in sight!" a man shouted from the front of the column, rousing Daemon from his own train of thought.

'All that is in the past', he firmly thought, squaring his shoulders. He studiously ignored the strain he put on the scar tissue that littered his back. 'Winterfell, here we come!'

 **-x-**

With a thundering rumble the plethora of horses of their party rode underneath Winterfell's gate, which stood wide open to allow their arrival in the fortress. From his position in the back, Daemon could see Lord Stark's family lined up in the yard, their servants standing in groups around them. As one the crowd sank to their knees and bowed their heads in deference when the King approached them.

Daemon curiously watched the man that had fathered him interact with what was apparently one of his closest and eldest friends. It was strange, seeing Robert with such a fond smile on his face. It somehow made him appear younger and … better.

'Then again', the prince wryly thought, 'I have never been on the receiving end of any kind of goodwill from him whether he was drunk or otherwise! So who am I to judge?'

Dismounting from his black horse and feeding it a cube of sugar, he passively watched his relatives greet the family who would be their hosts for the foreseeable future.

His father had walked off to gods knew where with his old friend; not caring the least about angering his queen in the process, which was not a promising sign for the rest of the party. His mother with her thinly veiled contempt, moving away to her chambers as soon as was conceivably possible. And his brother who was just shy of sneering at the Northern castle, instead eyeing the eldest girl, a redhead whom Daemon had to admit was quite the looker even though she was a bit on the young side for his taste.

Seeing the last of his relatives move away, the prince decided to move forward and introduce himself. There was no reason not to use this opportunity to meet some new and -perhaps more importantly for him- influential people. He didn't particularly like to think about a new acquaintance that way, but his position in life was not nearly as steadfast as he would prefer and -loathe he was to admit it- having the right sort of friends could aid him in that particular endeavour.

'Malfoy must be laughing his ass of wherever he is', Daemon thought slightly annoyed, remembering the first encounter where he had really talked with the blonde git who years down the line would become his brother-in-law.

The Baratheon prince first approached Robb Stark, the eldest of the Stark children. "Good afternoon, my name is-", he started, raising his hand to greet the heir to the North, only to be interrupted by a loud voice, by the sound of it coming from a girl.

"I know who you are. You are the Silver Prince, King Robert's bastard son!" the voice eagerly stated, almost demanding for him to confirm it.

Daemon gingerly retracted his hand, his smile becoming somewhat strained at being called a bastard and slowly turned to look at the speaker. It appeared to be another of Lord Stark's children, though this one was not a redhead, instead favouring her father's colouring. This daughter looked particularly unkempt in her dirt-covered breeches. 'Sansa? No that was the prettier one, who Joffrey had been talking with earlier', he thought, looking her over, 'Then this one must be Arya.'

Ignoring Robb's annoyed look and Sansa whispered hiss for the girl to be silent, he waved the embarrassed redhead off, signalling that no harm was done. "I am afraid you were mistaken, my dear Lady, I can assure you that I am not a bastard, despite what some individuals might proclaim", Daemon spoke, confidently using some of the easy charm that he seemed to be blessed with.

"I am not a lady", Arya retorted with clenched fists, looking affronted at the mere idea. The girl shook her dark brown hear and continued with her earlier line of conversation, "You won the jousting in the tournament held for the Crown Prince's last name day. Will you be fighting here as well?"

Somewhat thrown off from her excited manner, he faced Robb who looked faintly amused. The older boy just shrugged his shoulders in reply. Apparently this behaviour was not unexpected or unusual from Arya, going from the slightly weary expression on his face.

"Well I suppose we will be sparring together at some point during our stay", Daemon spoke, warming up to the idea of testing his mettle with some peers. "We could discuss the tournament further if you want during the feast tonight. I presume I will be escorting you into the Great Hall, considering you are the second eldest daughter of the host and I am - well me…" he trailed of somewhat awkwardly.

'I should be the one escorting Sansa really,' he realized, scratching his tousled, silver hair, 'But then again there is the whole presumed bastard and passed for the Iron Throne thingy, so I guess the ordinary rules do not really apply to me.'

"Great!" Arya muttered darkly, her words heavily laced with sarcasm, "I had almost forgotten about that." Shooting the silver-haired boy a look that told him exactly what she thought about a prince accompanying her to the feast that was held to celebrate their party's arrival. The feisty she-wolf turned on her heels and ran off towards the keep.

'Right, that just happened', Daemon thought in slight disbelief. He then turned to Robb and asked, though it was more of a statement, "It would appear that no matter what I am going to do, I will displease my seating partner this evening?"

"Aye, that is a lost battle if I have ever seen one. Don't worry though. As long as you don't ask her for a dance and tell Arya enough good stories about that tournament, you should be able to get out of it alive", Robb confirmed his suspicions, before continuing with a more pleasant subject, "At any rate, I am Robb Stark and if you want I could show you a bit of the castle? Unless you would prefer to retire to your room to get refreshed?"

"It is a bit redundant at this point, but my name is Daemon Baratheon and I wouldn't mind that tour of Winterfell if there is time", he answered, once again raising his hand. Without interruption this time, they finally shook hands and shared a grin at the silliness of their first introduction.

'Perhaps I am going to enjoy my time here in Winterfell after all', Daemon thought in high spirits, while he followed Robb towards one of the staircases that would lead him deeper into the ancient castle.

 **-x-**

 **Author Note:** When I wrote in the last chapter that 'updates would be infrequent at best', I hadn't thought it would be quite this bad… My apologies for that! I wish I could promise to post more frequently, but _life_ you know.

If you liked the chapter, consider leaving a review. All feedback is appreciated.


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